Well, another Halloween is in the books.
In my teens, my brother and I created funny and scary things to entertain ourselves and to drive away would-be trick-or-treaters so that we would get the leftover candy. My parents left us alone with that. At least they didn’t have to answer the door 100 times a night.
I’ve changed my philosophy about attracting trick-or-treaters. These days, I want the younger children to be intrigued by our setup, not frightened. I let the neighbors do the scaring. And we want to run out of candy by 8 p.m.
After moving to Sacramento in 2021, things got simpler because we weren’t ready for Halloween. Our house was a mess amid many repairs and upgrades. What to do?
As it turned out, my exercise ball became the centerpiece of my displays. I call him Swoosh. He’s a knockoff of Wilson but with a smiley face. He’s a happy “ghost.” My raincoat, an ancient Kangol cap, and two yellow stickers doctored to look like eyes were his costume. I get a kick out of the kids staring at him as they approach our door. Sometimes I hear them exclaim, “Wilson!” And sometimes, an older kid will answer, “That’s not Wilson. I don’t know who that is.” I suspect Santa has a tough time at their house.
As for my tombstones … they’re meant to be read out loud.
“Here I lie broken hearted, tried to poop but only farted.” — Stinky McStinky. A preteen girl read it aloud one year to the posse she was escorting. She laughed anyway.
“Here lie the authors of ‘100 Yards to Outhouse’ — Willy Make-It and Betty Won’t.”
“RIP Nine-Fingered Slim — The second-fastest draw in the West”
The parents like my costume. Many ask, “Who are you?” I have no idea, but I always wear Hawaiian shirts and black pants.
I guess I’m me.
